


Where Do You Go (When You Think Of Me?)

by resistance



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Whump, angst angst angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-08 00:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14682474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resistance/pseuds/resistance
Summary: Thank God for Francisco Ramon- the saviour of the Flash.





	Where Do You Go (When You Think Of Me?)

**Author's Note:**

> written to 'Big Jet Plane' by Angus & Julia Stone

 

There were so many people around him. Hugging him. Smothering him. 

Their voices were too loud, their laughter too shrill, their words morphing into white noise. 

Too many people were calling his name- too many hands on his shoulders, his arms, his wrists. 

"Barry?" Iris.

"Barry, are you okay?" Caitlin. 

"Bear?" Joe. 

He shrugs them all off. He shakes off their grips and shrinks away from their advances. When their hurt stares become too much to bear, he runs. He doesn't use his super speed- no, nothing good ever comes from that. He runs like he used to run- how he'd run from the school bullies, how he'd run from Iris when they played tag, how he was supposed to run on the night of his mother's murder. 

"Barry!" 

Voices chorus from the doorstep of Joe's house, calling his name, trying to stop him. He thinks he can see someone running out onto the street, hand outstretched to catch him, but he doesn't stop to look. 

Nobody follows him. 

He runs until his chest burns- going so slow was surprisingly exhausting- and stops at a nearby park. The children are all at home at this hour- tucked up with parents who love them and light in their hearts. Barry parks himself on one of the swings, resting his elbows on his knees and hiding his face in his hands. 

It's then that he realises he hasn't got his phone. He has no idea how he got to the park- too caught up in his own head to really notice where he was going. The wind picked up and he suppressed a shiver. His hoodie was no match for the September chills, but he didn't care. The cold numbed his fingers and pinched his nose, cooling the burning pains in his gut, lifting the weight on his chest. 

For once, Barry stopped thinking. He was constantly thinking- with work, being The Flash, and his personal relationships, he always had to be considering things. That was all he ever did- think, think, think. And then, when he stopped thinking, it blew up in his face. People died when he stopped thinking. So he didn't ever stop. 

This time, though, he did. 

And it was like the world stopped. 

The cries of pain and loss stopped ringing in his ears, the bloody bodies that fell at his hands stopped flashing behind his eyelids, and everything stopped crushing him for just a second. And it felt so good. He hasn't felt this good since he woke up with super speed. He hasn't felt as light as he does now since the very beginning. 

He doesn't know how long he sits in that little park, but all he can say is that it's not for long enough. 

All too soon, he hears a crunch of boots against concrete pavements, the telltale squeak of a gate, and the soft shuffle of woodchips on the ground. There's someone crouched in front of him, but he doesn't acknowledge them

The person speaks. "There's a whole search party out for you, y'know," they say. A familiar voice fills Barry's head.

_Cisco._

Barry doesn't respond, staring straight ahead at the high-rise buildings that made his city. 

"Poor Joe nearly put out an APB," 

Nothing.

Cisco sighs. "I know why you ran, Bear." 

No response, still. 

"I know why you ran... and I would run too. You think that the pain of others falls on you because you feel like that's your job- saving people. But sometimes, no matter how hard you try, no matter _how fast you run,_  you can't save everyone, Barry," 

A soft hand takes Barry's in its own. "You just can't." 

It's a broken mantra- they both know that. But it's the best they can do. Even a broken mantra is better than no mantra at all, right?

"I tried," Barry whispers, gaze still fixed straight ahead. Green eyes glistened in the glow of the passing traffic, watering with tears that felt like acid. "I tried so hard to save them, Cisco," 

Cisco takes both of Barry's hands in his own, running his warm thumbs over Barry's sharp fists, knobbly and prominent from fight damage. 

"I know, Bear. I know you did," 

Tears spill down his cheeks, dripping down his neck and under his collar. "I couldn't do it- I couldn't stop them from- from-" 

"Shh-sh-sh," Cisco hushes the speedster, "I know, Barry. I know. We all do. You did the very best you could for the most amount of people, and that's all we could ever ask from you. None of this- Eddie, Ronnie, Dante- not one of them was your fault; you don't get to carry that burden, okay? It doesn't land on your shoulders,"

Barry wipes at his eyes, blinking away the salty droplets that spill from them. 

"We've all lost people we love- that's what happens in life. People come, and people go- sometimes when we need them most. But we can't let those losses stop us from living. We mourn them, we rise above our demons, and we do what would make our lost ones proud. And I know so many people who would be proud of you, Barry Allen," 

The two boys lapse into a heavy silence, the only noise being the roar of this city and- 

buzzing?

Cisco quickly removes his phone from his back pocket, checking the caller ID. It's Iris. 

"Hey, Iris," he greets, wincing the wavering of the voice on the other end of the phone. "Yeah, I found him. He's safe, just a little upset. We'll be back at Joe's in a bit- can you call the others? Thanks."

He ends the call, shoving his phone back in his pocket and standing up from his crouching position. He legs rush with blood, pins and needles forming in his feet; he ignores it.

"Come on," he starts, slipping his warm hand into Barry's cold one again. "Let's get you warmed up," 

Barry, numb, follows blindly, only able to focus on the soft baritone of Cisco's voice and the warmth that seemed to radiate off of him in waves of heat. They trudge down the busy streets, headed towards Joes, only stopping when they reach the turn off for his street. 

Barry seems to snap out of his hollow stupor. "Cisco, I don't- I don't think I can go back in there," he murmurs, looking down at the sidewalk, ashamed of himself.

Cisco immediately lifts his hand, pressing two fingers under Barry's chin to lift his gaze back up to where it was. "Hey, it's okay. We don't have to go back to Joe's if you feel uncomfortable. My place is a couple of blocks away if you wanted to go there and calm down. We can watch movies with horrible graphics and I'll make tea, yeah?" 

Barry nods shyly, flashing his friend a grateful smile. Cisco returns it, empathy in his eyes.

"Okay. Let me just call Caitlin and tell her where we are," 

Another nod, with which Cisco pulls his phone out of his pocket once more and taps on Caitlin's contact. He brings the device to his ear, waiting for the dial tone to stop and for Caitlin's voice to take over. 

_"Cisco? Are you okay? Is Barry with you? Is he okay? What-"_

Cisco cuts her off. "Caitlin! I'm fine, Barry's..." he trails off, "Barry's okay, but there's been a change of plans. He's gonna stay with me tonight- he's not feeling too well and doesn't want to ruin everybody's evening. Can you tell Joe and Iris for me, please? They'll listen to you." 

Caitlin sighs down the phone.  _"Yeah. Don't worry about it. I'll see you both tomorrow?"_

"Yeah," Cisco says, nodding despite her inability to see him. "See you tomorrow Cait. Thanks for covering," 

_"You're welcome. You owe me though,"_

Cisco shudders. "I'd hate to think what that will entail," 

There's a groan from the other end of the phone, which Cisco is at least seventy-four percent sure is accompanied with an eye-roll. _"Go and help Barry already. I want to know what's happened when you show up for work tomorrow, though,"_

"You got it, Snow. See you tomorrow," 

_"Bye, Cisco,"_

Cisco hangs up, shoving his phone back into the pocket of his jeans for what felt like the umpteenth time that evening. "Okay, we're all covered. You feeling okay?" 

Barry nods dismissively. "Yeah, I'm- I'm good," 

"I'm unconvinced, but I'm cold, so let's go where there are warmth and blankets," Cisco confirms, giving Barry's hand a gentle tug to lead him in the general direction of his apartment, only to feel the icy skin of his wrist brush his own. He yelps. 

"Jesus, Bear, you're freezing! Even with your impossible resting temp, winter is nothing to fuck about with. Here, take my coat," 

Quickly, before Barry could protest, Cisco slips off his 'Coat' (a hoodie about three times too big for him- he liked his baggy clothes a little too much; if Barry had anything to say on the matter- but he wasn't about to complain.) 

Slowly, unsure, Barry takes the zip-up hoodie and wraps it around himself, zipping it up and huddling down into the warmth of it. He nods at Cisco to start walking and they set off, trudging down the wintry streets of Central City, their teeth chattering violently. Cisco's hand doesn't leave Barry's, despite not needing to hold it, sending warm tingles down the speedster's spine. He smiles to himself, hidden behind the large hood of Cisco's jacket. 

They reach Cisco's place faster than he would have liked- the elevator ride up to his apartment far too short- and when Cisco lets go of his hand to unlock the door, Barry can't help the ache in his chest, longing for him to hold it again. 

With a flick of a light switch, Cisco's apartment lights up, illuminating vintage movie posters, an old-looking sofa smothered in quilts, and two doorways leading to different areas. Through one Barry can see a granite countertop and some cupboards- probably the kitchen. A grey bedspread is a little ways past the other, which Barry quickly deduces to be Cisco's bedroom. They kick off their shoes beside the doorframe, placing them neatly beside each other. 

"Home sweet home. Sorry about the mess," Cisco sheepishly apologises, gesturing to the coffee-table in the centre of the room that is stacked high with comic books, Sherlock Holmes novels and great-big-fuck-off books on Mechanical Engineering, highlighters of various different colours haphazardly scattered across them.

Even from a distance, Barry can see the obvious order everything had been placed in- excluding the highlighters, of course- comic books organized by release and universe, biomechanics ordered in alphabetical- by the author, of course. 

Barry waves off the apology. "This is immaculate compared to my apartment," he states, unsure of where to go with his next sentence. Thankfully, Cisco gets where he's coming from, flashing him a soft smile. He disappears into the kitchen, Barry follows suit. He feels like a lost puppy in Cisco flat- this being the first time he'd actually been in it, considering movie night always happened at Barry's place. 

"Have you eaten yet? I made empanadillas this morning- I could heat some up if you're hungry," 

Barry's stomach grumbles loudly just as he utters the words "Nah, I'm good, thanks,", earning him a sceptical look from Cisco: Dead eyes with one brow raised. That man is the king of deadpan delivery, Barry decides. 

"Empanadillas coming right up," he says simply, a soft smile on his lips. "There's a load of DVDs on a bookcase in my room if you wanna find one to watch," 

Nodding, Barry pads carefully through the doorway to Cisco's room, pausing in his stride to admire his surroundings. It's all navy, except the far wall, which is bare bricks, a couple of watercolour paintings hung in ash frames adorning the painted walls. On one side of the room is a clothing rail, sat next to a wooden desk that has all sorts of techy pieces and spare parts strewn across it, screwdrivers and multi-tools sitting in stationery holders. The entire room is just so immaculately  _Cisco_ , and Barry finds himself smiling involuntarily. 

He glances at the bookcase stacked high with DVD's and remembers why he's in there in the first place, walking over to it and scanning the shelves for a film to watch. He settles on _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ , quickly exiting the room, feeling like he just pried into something personal to Cisco. Barry walks back into the living room just as Cisco exits the kitchen, two plates in his hands and a heavenly smell following him. Barry's stomach growls again, loud enough for the both of them to hear. They chuckle, grinning at one another as they sit down on the couch, Barry having a plate of food thrust into his hand. Cisco glances at the DVD case and raises a brow. 

"Barry Allen, don't tell me you're secretly a Monty fan?" 

Barry shrugs, a tad bashful, a shy smile on his face. Cisco gasps. "You _are_! Mr Allen, how dare you withhold this information from me?"

Stammering, Barry fights to find words. "I'm not _withholding_ anything- I'm- I'm not like a mega fan or whatever, I just-" 

"Hush your mouth and eat your food, you dirty liar. I'm pretty sure the second dimension heard your stomach grumble. Twice." Cisco laughs, slipping the DVD into the player and grabbing the blankets that were residing on the back of the sofa. "Here. No movie night is complete without blankets," 

He bounds over to the light switch, turning it off with a quick flick. "Or atmospheric lighting," 

Barry laughs, settling under the quilts Cisco had all but thrown at him. "You're a total dork, you do realise that?" Cisco grins at him, flopping very ungracefully beside the speedster and grabbing his plate of food. 

"Yup. That's why everyone loves me so much." he takes a bite of Empanadilla, chewing quickly and swallowing it down. "Especially you, speedster,"

Barry's breath catches in his throat as he whispers under his breath. 

_"Yeah, pretty much,"_

His little whisper goes- thankfully- unnoticed by the mechanic, who has turned his attention to the movie playing on the tv screen. He shuffles in his seat to get comfortable and pulls the blankets over him, frowning when he finds that they don't quite cover him. 

"Hey, Blanket Hog, scooch closer- you're making me cold," he demands, pouting. 

Barry rolls his eyes and shuffles closer, tossing more of the quilt over Cisco. What he hasn't noticed was that in doing that, he has sat directly next to Cisco, their knees knocking against each other gently. All Barry would have to do is lean to the left ever so slightly and his head would be on Cisco's shoulder. 

But he doesn't do it. 

 

They were about a quarter of the way through the movie when Cisco speaks again, turning his attention to the man beside him. 

"What's it like to be in a coma?" he asks, thoughts unfiltered. When Barry's eye widen a little at the sudden question, Cisco freezes. "I-I mean, you don't have to tell me, I'm just curious- if it's a sensitive subject you don't have to say anything- sorry I-" 

Barry shushes him with a sentence of his own. "Cisco, it's okay, I honestly don't mind talking about it. It's how I became who I am, after all," 

Cisco nods, allowing Barry to continue. 

"It was... strange. It was like I was asleep- like I was getting a regular eight-hour rest, y'know? I could hear everyone, but I kept thinking they were talking to me in a dream? There were Iris and Joe, obviously, but there were also two other voices that I couldn't place- you and Caitlin, I think," Barry was sheepish when he next spoke. "If I'm being completely honest, I kind of... imagined another you? Based on your voice?" 

Cisco raises his brows, cheeks feeling a little warmer than they were a second ago. "You... you imagined me?" 

Barry nods, embarrassed. 

"Could you show me what you thought I looked like? Like, draw it out or something?" 

Barry shrugs, face pink. "I mean, I'm hardly Gustave Courbet, but I guess I could? Do you have a pencil or something?" 

Cisco nods and stands up, pausing the movie and speeding off to the kitchen and opening a drawer of some sort. He returns quickly with a drawing pad and a pencil, shyly passing it to Barry, who is still sat on the sofa. He starts to draw, sketching out a strong jaw and sloping nose, a boyish smile and a curly mop of hair. He finishes off with a pair of square-framed glasses, shading here and there. He hands the drawing pad back to Cisco, diffident in his demeanour. 

Cisco's eyes scan the page, jaw slowly going slack as he takes in the whole drawing. "First of all, Courbet hasn't got shit on you, this is gorgeous," 

Barry smiles bashfully, head bowed to avoid Cisco's awed gaze. 

"Second of all, you made me hot! I honestly feel bad for you dude, you set yourself an impossible reality," 

That doesn't sit right with Barry. What does Cisco mean? He's gorgeous. Smooth skin the colour of warm caramel, upsettingly silky hair that looks fucking great in a bun, and if he is being perfectly honest, the finest ass in all of Central City. 

"Don't say that," he blurts out, unthinking. 

Cisco's brow furrows, confused. "Don't say what?" 

 _Well, you're in it now, Allen,_ Barry thinks, running his hand through his hair nervously. 

"You always compare yourself to people. Wells, me, and now a rushed drawing of someone who doesn't even exist. You're worth more than that, Cisco," Barry starts, unable to look at the expression on Cisco's face. It was one of confusion and obvious self-loathing, and Barry hated it. 

"You think you're not that special, but you are. You really, really are. You're kind and you're funny and you're so smart we all struggle to keep up with your genius ideas. And I know your family gives you shit for not being like Dante, but you don't need to be like him in order to be you. You, the incredible mechanical engineer that can see the future and has saved countless amounts of lives just by talking through a microphone or putting on a pair of goggles," 

Cisco looks slightly self-conscious, hand tangling in the hair at the back of his neck. "I- I didn't think I was all that special," he admitted, "I just thought you kept me around to be nice," 

Barry's jaw nearly hit the floor. "You're joking. You're not joking. Okay. Um, you may not realise this, but you, Francisco Ramon, are more than just a brain. Yes, you're a science genius, but you're also the only person I trust with my life. I only listen to you when I'm up against a meta- have you noticed that?" 

Thinking back, Cisco remembers the snarky, under-breath utterances Barry would make whenever Wells tried to tell him how to act. He only ever listened if Cisco agreed with the idea, encouraging him. _Huh._

"You're intellectually amazing, and you look unfairly good in a bun and ripped jeans and you can sing like an angel and you have hips that could challenge Shakira and _win_ , and if you honestly think you're not that special, then you've clearly been hit around the head too many times," 

Neither of them notices how close they've gotten, almost chest to chest. Barry's gaze holds Cisco's own, green on brown. Tears slip down Cisco's cheeks and Barry gently wipes them away with his thumbs, hands coming to rest on Cisco's cheeks. 

"Nobody has ever said that to me before," he whispers brokenly. Barry's chest aches at that, and all he wants to do is kiss Cisco's insecurities away and tell him he loves him again and again. "And I hope to God that this means you like dudes because otherwise what I'm about to do is going to make our friendship very awkward indeed," 

Barry looked confused. "What-" 

He's cut off by a pair of soft lips on his own, arms wrapped around his neck. Barry freezes for a split second before coming to his senses, his hands finding Cisco's hips. It's like a million fireworks are going off in his mind, colours dancing behind his closed eyes. The kiss tastes like empanadillas and warmth and he can smell mint and vanilla and it's all just so _Cisco_ that Barry can't fight the smile that's on his lips as he pulls away. 

Their foreheads rest against one another, noses bumping ever so slightly. Cisco doesn't open his eyes, a small grin on his face. 

"I take it that that went well, considering your hands are still on my _'Shakira Hips',_ " Cisco mutters, chuckling to himself. Barry gave a small warning pinch to Cisco's waist, making the shorter man squeak in surprise. "Sorry, I had to. I haven't had anyone compare me to Shakira, the queen of dance herself, and I'm the one who wins," 

Barry rolls his eyes. "Shut up and kiss me again, you dork," 

" _Your_ Dork, if you want me to be,"  he murmurs.

Barry, a little taken aback by the sudden boldness of the engineer, nods, smiling softly. "I wouldn't say no to that. I've been quite fond of said dork for a while now," 

"Yeah well, he feels the same," 

Barry leaned back a bit. "Did you seriously just refer to yourself in the third person?" 

Cisco shrugs. "I might have done. Now get down here, Señor-giraffe-on-stilts and shut me up," 

Barry leans down a little, lips brushing Cisco's in the most innocent of ways. "Gladly," he whispers, kissing him again, arms wrapping all the way around Cisco's waist and pulling him closer. 

Cisco kisses back, hand tangled in Barry's hair and tugging ever so slightly. 

 _Yeah_ ,

Cisco thinks to himself. 

_I'd happily be this man's dork._

_He sped his way into my heart whether I wanted him to or not,_

 

_why shouldn't we make something of it?_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not keen on this, but hey, I'm too lazy to rewrite it.   
> Title based off of a poem that I (regrettably) can't remember the fucking title of. It was written by someone called Kate from Hello Poetry, and It's driving me mad because I can't find it.   
> If anyone knows which poem I'm talking about, please let me know so I can link it


End file.
